I WANDERED by the brookside, I wandered by the mill; I could not hear the brook flow, -- The noisy wheel was still; There was no burr of grasshopper, No chirp of any bird, But the beating of my own heart Was all the sound I heard. I sat beneath the elm-tree; I watched the long, long shade, And, as it grew still longer, I did not feel afraid; For I listened for a footfall, I listened for a word, -- But the beating of my own heart Was all the sound I heard. He came not, -- no, he came not, -- The night came on alone, -- The little stars sat, one by one, Each on his golden throne; The evening wind passed by my cheek, The leaves above were stirred, -- But the beating of my own heart Was all the sound I heard. Fast silent tears were flowing, When something stood behind; A hand was on my shoulder, -- I knew its touch was kind: It drew me nearer, -- nearer, -- We did not speak one word, For the beating of our own hearts Was all the sound we heard. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FAREWELL TO ARMS by GEORGE PEELE THE FORMER LIFE by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE CREOLE SLAVE SONG: BELLE LAYOTTE by GEORGE WASHINGTON CABLE UPON SOME ALTERATION IN MY MISTRESS, AFTER MY DEPARTURE INTO FRANCE by THOMAS CAREW DOVECOTT MILL: 4. SUGAR-MAKING by PHOEBE CARY |